


Of Sunbeams and Self-Delusion

by vodkamutiny



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Collegestuck, F/M, Four years later I'm still screaming over this ship, Humanstuck, I'd tag this is enemies to lovers but they were never enemies Karkat's just a dumb shit, Nightmares, Welcome back to the Katnep channel everyone's dead and I'm the only one left, Will it ever end? Probably not, roommate au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 03:12:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11118720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodkamutiny/pseuds/vodkamutiny
Summary: There’s something about her sleepy green eyes, still bleary but bright, and the remnants of the day’s mascara clinging to her lashes and the freckles like stars scattered over her dimpled cheeks that makes you feel like you’ve loved her all this time. And before you can think about why you shouldn’t, you lean in and kiss her.Alternate title: Karkat is a Thirsty Crybaby Bitch





	Of Sunbeams and Self-Delusion

**Author's Note:**

> SUFFER WITH ME

She’s a ball of sunshine and you _can’t stand it_.

You can sense it from the moment you step foot into your new apartment and she’s standing there, dressed in dirty sneakers, cutoff overalls, and a smile so bright you feel like you need sunglasses to look at it head-on. When you hold your hand out for her to shake, she pulls you into a rib-crushing hug instead, and you catch a whiff of green apple-scented shampoo in her kinky blonde curls. She drags you onto the couch and proceeds to entrap you in one of the most tedious conversations you've ever had the displeasure of being a part of, complete with a tangent about her various interests that could have passed for an excerpt from a Hemingway novel and an exclamation that she 'is absolutely certain we will be the best of friends!'

Out of spite, you decide that you absolutely won't be.

At first, she takes it upon herself to make breakfast, every morning, which you would have appreciated if she could  _actually_ cook. Everything that’s capable of being blackened gets that way, from her waffles to her toast, and the time she attempts to make an omelette ends in a visit from the fire marshal and your entire wardrobe claiming the scent of burnt eggs. After an incident involving her leaving a hot dog in the microwave for fifteen minutes, you decide to take on providing sustenance for the both of you.

She dances for a living, and talks about it all the time, ranting about the shanks of her pointe shoes snapping while you’re sprawled out on the couch with your laptop and Civilization IV chugging along with your crappy bandwidth. You sometimes catch her practicing in the morning, doing splits on the linoleum and rehearsing sloppy renditions of her choreography in the kitchen while she burns her oatmeal. Normally, this wouldn't bother you, but Nepeta behaves in her usual over-the-top manner and gets up at the ass-crack of dawn to get limber. Almost every morning, you have to maneuver around her body twisted in a position that she calls ‘stretching’ but you call ‘contortion’, and then deal with her chipper 'have a good day!' hitting your back as you bustle out the door.

You try to bait her into getting into it with you more often than you’d care to admit. Leaving empty containers in the fridge, canceling her recordings of Y&R, putting her bras in the dryer, doing your damndest to get on her nerves, but despite your most valiant efforts to get a rise out of her, she never snaps. She just chastises you in that sugary voice she uses when she’s ticked off, and pats your shoulder.

“I’m not mad at you.” She lies sweetly, and you want to scream.

But whenever you go out together, she talks about you like you’re the light of her life. She gushes about how good your cooking is, how you help her with essays (even though most of those ‘tutoring sessions’ are just you trying to get her to understand why it’s a bad idea to title her biology thesis ‘natural selection, bitch!’), how thoughtful and great you are when in reality, you’re anything but.  
  
Every time she talks like that, like you’re an angel of God yourself, you feel this twinge of almost-guilt panging at your heart. You get the feeling that you’re really taking her for granted, but when you get home and she blasts Krewella from her Bluetooth speaker while she’s in the shower, you feel those warm fuzzies float away like dandelion seeds in a breeze.

Despite all your animosity for her, however, something resembling affection for Nepeta rears its ugly head more than you’d like to admit.

You attend a party with her after a few months of living together, one of Vriska’s god-forsaken boozefests at the club she works at. Nepeta’s in something dark and slinky, all shiny, curve-cradling fabric and curling iron ringlets. She looks at your button-down and skinny jeans with a twitch of disdain in her eye, but ultimately, she doesn't say anything. The two of you are halfway out the door when she stops to casually fix your collar.  
  
You want to snap at her, but it's such an innocent gesture, performed like a reflex she doesn't realize the significance of. Before you can react in any other way, she whirls down the hall and you can only mutter under your breath and jog after her.  
  
At the party, you lurk around the outskirts with Sollux, as usual, and you lose sight of Nepeta in the pounding music and technicolor lights. As the song slows into a new one, the crowd disperses just slightly, and you catch sight of your roommate grinding on Aradia Megido, laughing and taking sips from the other girl's drink.  
  
The moment you make eye contact with her, Nepeta whispers something in the Aradia’s ear, shoots you a smirk that's almost downright _predatory_ , and mimes throwing a lasso and reeling you in. You make a point not to stare at her swaying hips as you flail your hands and furiously shake your head.  
  
'I don’t dance,' You mouth.  
  
'So?' She mouths back.  
  
You retreat a couple steps, but it only seems to spur her on, because she darts through the crowd and drags you into the fray before you can shake her off.  
  
“Fuck! Shit! Nepeta, what the am I supposed to do here?” You shout over the music. There's someone literally inside your ass at the moment and you’ve never felt more uncomfortable in your life.  
  
“Dance!” She’s bouncing on her feet, hair floating up in the air with every pop of her heels like a protagonist from a goddamn Ghibli movie.  
  
“ _How?!”_  
  
“Doesn’t matter!”  
  
You sigh explosively and make a move to weave back out through the masses, but Nepeta, apparently, has other plans. Her hands snap around your hips and _yank_ you 90 degrees until you’re flush against her glittery polyester-clad front. She holds your wrists and hefts your arms into the air just as the beat drops and the crowd quite literally fucking swells, like a tidal wave threatening to pull you under.  
  
It nearly sweeps you off your feet, but Nepeta keeps you locked in eye contact with her, mouth furiously shaping lyrics you can’t even hear over the pounding bass. Momentarily, you almost feel like you’re having some semblance of fun, but just as you start to loosen up, some drunk girl jabs her elbow into your back and throws you off-balance. You drop one arm and fling it out to brace against Nepeta. Incidentally, you end up clutching the curve of her waist.  
  
Immediately, her demeanor changes.  
  
For an instant, time seems to grind to a screeching halt. The singer’s voice flatlines into a drone and the strobe lights stroll leisurely across your roommate’s freckled face. The mass of humans around you moves at a waltz as you stare, googly-eyed, at Nepeta Leijon and find your thoughts rerouting into a sudden realization that, Jesus Christ, she’s _gorgeous_. From the curl of her hair to the tip of her nose, the points of her eyeliner to the glitter fallout showered over her cheeks, she's a Helen of Troy, a Marilyn Monroe, and you can't believe you never noticed it before.  
  
Still in slow-motion, her eyes lower to the base of your neck, and you feel her fingertips brush against your throat as she carefully folds down your collar, like she did on the way here. This time, her hands crawl down towards your chest and linger there, her thumb tracing circles around the top button of your shirt. You wonder, briefly, if she can feel your heart kicking at your ribcage, as some divine force manifests in your spinal cord and compels you lean down towards her.  
  
You’re millimeters away from a painful, drowning death in peach lip gloss when a jangling, gold bangle-bound someone loops their arm with Nepeta’s and time slams back into normalcy in one, horrific instant.  
  
“Feferi!” Nepeta trills as you gasp in gulps of hot, armpit-scented air and frantically attempt to comprehend what just happened. While your roommate's distracted, you take the chance to shoulder your way through the pit, prompting a variety of offending noises that fall on uncaring ears. You’ve got to get out of here. Clearly, the fumes are starting to get to your brain.  
  
You break through the gyrating horde like a drowning man paddling up to the surface, cool air flooding into your lungs and relief flooding into your brain. Eventually, Sollux comes sauntering up to you, solo cup in hand and a faintly concerned look on his face.  
  
“Dude, are you okay? You’ve been standing there like a vegetable for like, five minutes.” He snaps his fingers in front of your eyes, and you irritably swat his hand away.  
  
“Eat a dick, I’m fine.” Without missing a beat, you snatch his cup and down it in one go. “I can't stand this fucking place anymore. It smells like a middle school locker room, and I'm pretty sure I'm starting to hallucinate from the stench. Let’s scram."  
  
Sollux calls an Uber for you both, and once you get back to the apartment you spend a few hours laying on your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling and contemplating the events of the past few hours. Nepeta finally gets home at 3:30 AM, heralded by the scrape of stumbling high heels and hiss of the shower turning on. You roll over, turn off the lights, and pretend to be asleep.  
  
You never speak of the Party Incident ever again. You’d dare to say that Nepeta doesn’t even remember it, because she doesn’t so much give you a second glance when she shuffles into the kitchen the next morning, hair a puffy, hairspray-caked halo of dirty blonde around her head. She pulls a cereal bowl out of the dishwasher and kicks it closed with her foot, like you always tell her not to do, and all your disdain for her rises back up like bile in your throat.

The two of you exist for the next year and half in a bizarre frenemies limbo, alternating between borderline friendliness and passive-aggression at the drop of a hat. The Party Incident melts into the back of your mind along with every other weirdly romantic interaction with Nepeta, and you continue a life of semi-peaceful coexistence with the most irritating roommate to ever exist.

...Well, she's the only roommate you've ever had, so you're not the best judge in that department, but you're convinced she'd drive anyone up the wall.

It takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize that that's not entirely true.

You’re up late one night, working on a presentation for your European Literature class, while Nepeta is passed out on the couch across from you with her face buried in her Econ book. You’ve got the brightness on your laptop turned all the way down and she sleeps like a damn log, so needless to say, you aren’t expecting her to suddenly bolt awake with a shriek that makes your blood cells shiver.

You damn near fling your laptop out of your hands in surprise, and have to lunge forward to keep it from shattering on the living room floor. Cursing, you deposit it on the coffee table and reach over to click on the floor lamp. “Christ on a _motherfucking_ bike, what the ungodly hell is wrong with-”

You glance up towards your roommate, and the sight cuts you off as quickly as she could have. She’s huddled against the armrest and shaking like a leaf, knees pulled up to her chest and her hands wrapped around her head. You hear her panicked hyperventilating even from where you’re sitting.

Fuck.

“Nepeta…?” You say softly, careful not to startle her.

She inhales sharply, eyes screwed shut, and you make your way over to her. The sofa creaks loudly as you sit down. She shrinks away.

“Hey...hey, it’s okay. You just had a nightmare, right?”

It takes her a while to respond, but eventually she nods. You bite your lip and attempt to fashion a coherent response.

“...I’ve heard, with some people, it helps to talk-”

“No.” She says immediately, voice cracking. You frown, and she drops her head down against her knees.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

She shakes her head. No. Okay, probably for the best.

“Alright.” You drum your fingers on your leg, watching her out of the corner of your eye. She isn’t showing any signs of calming down; in fact, it almost seems like she’s getting worse. God, this is nerve-wracking. You wonder if you still have her mom's number. Or Feferi's, or Aradia's, or literally anyone capable of comforting her without making an ass out of themselves.

“Do you want some water?” 

She nods, and you stand up slowly. “I’ll be right back.” You shuffle towards the kitchen, fumbling around for the light switch and then fumbling around for a cup that won’t shatter if she drops it. You find a plastic one you nabbed from a nearby seafood joint, with tiny advertisements wrapped around the exterior, and fill it up in the sink. The water pressure seems especially shitty tonight, and you can feel a weird anxiety knotting up in your stomach as the cup slowly fills up. You’re so concerned about her it physically hurts.

Jesus, how pathetic.

When you reenter the living room, she’s adjusted her position slightly, with her legs crossed in front of her and her arms wrapped around one of the decorative cushions. You sit down beside her and hold the cup out. As you pass it over, her hands tremble, but you reinforce her grip with your own before she drops it. “Careful.”

“Thanks.” She mumbles. The water swirls around as if it’s caught in an earthquake.

As you pull your hands away, you notice that she’s breathing a bit easier now, and the tearstreaks down her face look like they're starting to dry. “Are you feeling any better?”

“A little.”

“Has this ever happened before?”

“A couple times.” She jiggles her leg and doesn’t meet your eyes.

“What do you usually do to calm down?”

“I don’t know.”

“...Am I helping or annoying you? Cause I’ll shut up and leave you alone if you-”

She cuts you off. “You’re helping.”

The two of you sit suspended in an uncomfortable silence for a while, before you try to to strike up a conversation. “Y’know, I used to have nightmares like that.”

“Yeah?” Nepeta takes a sip of the water.

“I’d have to get my dad or my brother to sit with me until I fell asleep again, and that would take...Jesus, at least an hour. Sometimes I wouldn’t even remember what they were about, but I’d still be wigged out by them even in the morning. Dad always thought it all had something to do with- with, uh…” Shit. You’re not ready to spill your guts to her _just_ yet. Awkwardly, you look at your hands.

“With what?”

“My, um...mom.” Great. You said it. Might as well tell her your deepest darkest secrets while you’re at it, too. “She left when I was seven.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you ever...try to find her?” You feel her eyes on your face, but don’t look up.

“My dad searched all over town, called her friends, called her family, but no one would tell him anything. I don’t think she wanted to be found.”

“I’m sorry.”

“S’alright.” You sigh explosively and run a hand through your hair. “She was always kind of...weird. Skittish. Forgetting to pick me up from places, going out and leaving Kankri and I alone, driving off and spending the night in motels whenever she fought with my dad, shit like that. Honestly, she wasn’t much of a mother, even when she was there.” You swallow thickly. “Didn’t mean I never missed her.”

Nepeta stares at you, doe-eyes wide as saucers, and you clear your throat and keep talking. You’re distracting her. You’re helping.

“I used to...torture myself, thinking about it. How maybe, if I hadn’t talked back to her that one time, or told her I loved her more, she would have stayed.” You pause, before rubbing furiously at the corners of your eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m making this about me.”

“No, I understand.” Nepeta leans back against the back of the sofa, bloodshot eyes fixed on the blank, black television behind you. “My dad left when I was a baby. My mama promised it wasn't because of me, but I always blamed myself anyway.”

“...Where did you grow up, again?”

“New Orleans. My mama had four sisters, two brothers, her mother, and three uncles, and between the lot of them, I was never really at a loss of purr- _par_ ental figures.” Her lips quirk. “In fact, they were probably a little overbearing, all trying to make up for the fact I didn’t have a father.”

“Yeah. My dad kind of smothered me, after my mom left. Well, as much as he could. He’s been in jail since I was thirteen.”

Her eyebrow lifts, just a little, but it doesn't bother you. You’d probably react the same way. “For?”

“He was this...protest leader. Real peaceful guy, he just had a lot of bones to pick with the government.” You scoot back against the couch cushions, pulling your legs up to criss-cross over the grungy grey fabric. “One of the demonstrations got out of hand, and a cop started giving him a hard time. Getting in his face, pushing him around, threatening him, that sort of thing, and when Dad shoved him back the poor bastard fell and busted his head open on the curb. Died instantly.” You swallow. “My dad was still trying to revive him when reinforcements showed up. They charged him with manslaughter. I’ve only ever seen him on visitor’s days ever since.”

“You must miss him.”

You think about the time you came to see him before prom, dragging some glitter-clad bimbo you barely even knew along with you just to see your father’s eyes light up. You think about when you showed up after your high school graduation in your cap and gown and he cried and held you until you heard a guard on the intercom growl a reminder of ‘no physical contact’. You remember the last letter you wrote to him, and how you had to take a moment to think about the date at the top of the paper, because it felt like just yesterday when you scribbled out your very first one.

“Yeah.” You say, and press your palms against your eyes.

A beat of silence passes, before the sofa creaks with shifted weight and warm arms wrap around your shoulders. You just sit there numbly for a moment, before melting into Nepeta’s grip. For someone who works out almost 24/7 and can deadlift 400, she is _very_ soft.

“I’m sorry,” You say into the crook of her neck.

“For what?”

“I’ve acted like such a fucking ass to you since you moved in, and I don't even know _why_.” Her hair, still slightly damp from her shower earlier tonight and coated with that synthetic green apple scent, tickles your nose and you fight the urge to sneeze.

Nepeta wiggles back a little so you can see her face, and gives you a rueful smile. “Well, I don't think you're entirely at fault for that. I’ll admit, I…I’ve been purrposely trying to annoy you.”

You blink. “Why?”

“It's just… it’s so hilarious to get you all worked up over such silly stuff! Like, whenever I practice in the kitchen, or open the dishwasher with my foot, or steal your socks. You get this funny look on your face and you flail your arms around and…” Her face scrunches up and then she dissolves into these little hitching giggles; you find yourself laughing with her, despite your instincts telling you that you should absolutely be mad.

Her laughter dies down and then she’s just beaming breathlessly at you, and in that moment, just like at the party, something changes.

There’s something about her sleepy green eyes, still bleary but bright, and the remnants of the day’s mascara clinging to her lashes and the freckles like stars scattered over her dimpled cheeks that makes you feel like you’ve loved her all this time. And before you can think about why you shouldn’t, you lean in and kiss her.

It lasts maybe a second- no, a millisecond, a _fraction_ of a millisecond before you realize that you’re _kissing Nepeta Leijon_ and hastily scramble back like her mouth had suddenly caught fire.

She’s staring at you, and there isn't a hint of that foggy drowsiness on her features anymore. Instead, she looks sharp and alert and... _dangerous_ , like a jaguar about to pounce. Panicking, you sputter. “Shit, fuck, I didn't mean- I was just- I don’t know what-”

“You kissed me.” Nepeta says, very slowly, like she's still coming to terms with it herself.

You exhale, and it rattles in your chest. “Uh, yeah.”

“ _Why_?”

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Prefurably, yes!”

“I have no fucking idea.”

Nepeta blinks, and you sheepishly rub the back of your head. “...Okay, I lied. I think...I might in love with you.”

“You _think_?”

You think. On the day you met, you made an executive decision that you hated her and would always hate her. But after tonight, all those little things she did that pissed you off just seem quirky and endearing and...human-like. She’s not just your annoying roommate, she’s Nepeta Leijon, from New Orleans, with the big family and the absentee dad and the freckled nose and beautiful, beautiful green eyes. The singing in the shower, the nail-clacking, the Krewella CDs, the early-morning contortion sessions, glittery eyeshadow and foundation speckles all over the bathroom mirror, it all culminates into this wonderful girl that, up until now, you deluded yourself into disliking.

Wow. You’re an asshole, _and_ an idiot.

“I’ve been acting like an absolute chode.” You deadpan, staring at your hands. “All this time, I’ve been trying to convince myself that I hate you and everything about you.”

“Don’t you?”  
  
“No.” You answer, a little too quickly. You cough behind your hand. “I mean, yes- no, fuck, I mean- I thought I did. I thought every little thing you did was so, so fucking annoying, and that you were, like, the most irritating, infuriating, obnoxious roommate ever.”

Her eyes narrow. You wave your hands frantically. “No, listen! Listen, Nepeta, I’ve been such a piece of shit. You’re so wonderful. You’re beautiful and talented and sweet and I was just fooling myself into thinking you weren’t. You’re just so, so fucking good, and I think… I think I was…” You fumble for the next words. “I was afraid I would fall in love with you.”

“Afraid?” She says in a tiny voice. It’s dark, so you can't be sure, but the multicolored lights undulating across the room from the lava lamp almost make it look like she’s blushing.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Fuck, I don’t know!” You snap, reaching up to knit your fingers in your hair. “Maybe I couldn't wrap my head around the concept of someone like you ever feeling anything but contempt for me. Maybe I was scared you would like me back but then I’d go and act like a shartlord, like I always do, and break your heart. Maybe I thought you were gay. Maybe I thought _I_ was gay! Maybe I wasn’t over my ex yet, maybe you’re too good for me and I just want the best for you, and I know that all your friends want the best for you and that obviously isn’t me. Maybe...maybe…”

You’re panting like you’ve just run a mile and there are frustrated tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. Christ, how fucking embarrassing. This trumps when Terezi dumped you at homecoming sophomore year. Trembling, you suck in a gulp of air and drag your hands down your face.  
  
“I don’t _know_ why, Nepeta, my subconscious is a _weird_ fucking thing, but I do know that I tried to stop myself from falling for you and I failed. I fucking failed because tonight…tonight I looked at you and I realized that I can't pretend like I don't love you anymore.”

Your voice breaks and Nepeta moves for the first time since you started on your tangent, crawling across the couch to gently cup your cheeks. “ _Karkat_ ,” She says, and her hands are cool against your burning face. “It’s _okay_. Calm down, you’re working yourself up over nothing!”

“It’s not _nothing_!” You huff, smacking yourself in the eye with the butt of your palm in an attempt to staunch whatever traitorous moisture is gathering there. “Jesus, haven’t you been listening? I’m having a goddamn crisis here!”  
  
“Karkat, are you sure you aren’t just saying all this stuff because you feel bad? We wouldn't even be talking now if I hadn’t…”  
  
“Does that matter? Yeah, we started the conversation in a weird place, but do you really think I’d straight up fabricate that pitiful sniffling word-vomit of a confession because I felt _sorry_ for you?”  
  
She hesitates, worrying her lip between her teeth. Eventually, she squints back up at you. “No, you’re not that kind of guy.”  
  
“Yeah, and you don’t need my pity.”  
  
It comes out a little harshly, but judging from her expression, she gets your point. You exhale explosively and drop your head into your hands. “Do you remember that night at Vriska’s party?”  
  
“The one at the club?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Sort of. Didn’t we almost...”  
  
Fuck. She does remember. “Mhmm."

"Oh." Nepeta pulls her lower lip between her teeth. "That was...I assumed that was just the drinks talking. Or, well, moving."

"I wasn't as nearly as drunk as you were, though. And I was the one who initiated it."

"But you didn't mention it later?"

"I thought you wouldn't remember." You shift in your seat. "I thought it'd be better if I didn't, either."

"...Do you still feel that way?"

You meet her eyes. "No."

Nepeta looks down at her hands, and the next few minutes are spent in a very long, very awkward pause (bisected by you sneezing and her saying ‘bless you’) before you deem the conversation over and stand to head back to your room.  
  
“Karkat.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“C’mere.”  
  
You slowly sit back down, and she rises up on her knees and bridges the small gap between you. You watch, wide-eyed, as she swings one leg over your lap, pins you between her smooth brown thighs, grabs you by the face, and pulls you into long, languid kiss. It’s simultaneously gentle and intense, like a sunbeam on your lips, and her mouth is drenched in cheap strawberry chapstick but in the moment, the flavor rivals the sweetest wine.  
  
You plant your hands on the sheer muscle of her hips and ease her closer until her body is flush against your chest. When you finally pull apart, she combs her fingers through your hair and you lean your forehead against hers.

“I like you a lot.” She says, softly.  
  
“You do?”  
  
“Yes.”

"...You know, that's pretty unfortunate, actually. I'm a real dickhead."

"Yeah, I've noticed!" Smiling, she pecks your nose. "I've met bigger ones, though. S'not a dealbreaker."

"Oh, really?"

"Mhm! You are not as bad as you make yourself out to be, Karkat, honestly."

"Careful there, Leijon, you might void my membership to the Insufferable Prick Club. I worked my ass off to get it, too."

"Oh, you did that to yourself." Her voice dips into a low, rasping imitation of yours. "'I can't pretend I don't love you anymore,' now what kind of insuffurable prick would say a thing like that?"

You can't help but smirk at that. “Alright, alright, I get it. I'm blubbering goddamn pansy, what else is fucking new."

She blinks. "I didn't-"

"I know." You let your arms settle comfortably against the curve of her back. "...So, what-okay, forgive me for the cliche bomb, but...what are we?"  
  
“I don't have a clue, to be honest. Buuuuut...there is one thing I _am_ sure about.”  
  
“And that is?”  
  
“That _this_ ,” Nepeta pauses, and plants a trail of open-mouthed kisses from your jawline to your lips, hands sliding down towards your waist, “feels really, really good.”  
  
You couldn’t agree more. “I think I get your point.”  
  
“Mmm?”  
  
“No labels, no running my big fat mouth. Just you, and me.”  
  
Nepeta grins, all white teeth and dimples, and you wonder what you ever did to deserve someone like her looking at you like that.

“I think you’re much better at this romantic stuff than you think you are.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> *rises from the dead* ok but............listen..........katnep.........
> 
> this monstrosity has been sitting unfinished in my google docs for years, haunting me. i'm pretty sure no one even ships this anymore but i literally don't care lol this pairing is golden and all the haters can bite my juicy ass


End file.
